


Bad Romance

by Hotspur



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Rome
Genre: Blackrom, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, aaaand i continue sinning, for my friend, shameless reference to lady gaga, the gallic wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotspur/pseuds/Hotspur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Observations on Caesar's Gallic conquest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caelidra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caelidra/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [孽缘](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330547) by [styx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/styx/pseuds/styx)



> Written for my best friend, Cae, who came up with the ship of Mustache Salad- Caesar and Vercingetorix. 
> 
> And a shameless reference to Lady Gaga.

The first time you see him he is defiant- you are, after all, trying to put down his rebellion. He scowls at you, but under that barbaric mat of hair and mustache and war paint you see intelligence and- dare you apply it to a Gaul- nobility. He is no mere rebellious backwater scum, he is a chief. Almost equal to you. 

The second time you see him, you fight. The two of you have talked civilly long enough, and your cool demeanor has angered him. There is a flurry of fists as he strikes and you strike back. He is younger than you, but he is very strong. Muscles with warpaint flex under his tunic as you struggle. You’re not sure what causes it, but soon you are gripping his broad shoulders, attacking his mouth under that hideous layer of hair. 

It isn’t anything like your past with your dear wife. Nothing is, nothing could replace her. This night is violent and somehow that fits. There is blood, yes, blood- and you find that it is delicious. You don’t fall asleep, neither does he. There is no cuddling, nothing soft. You go your separate ways and no one need know. It’s not like you haven’t been accused of this before, out in the East. Although this time it’s true. 

As the months of negotiation and fighting go on, you find that you respect this barbarian chieftain. You don’t love him, you never could and you never will. But you respect him and enjoy this control you have over him, if only for a few minutes and far from the battlefield. Maybe it is romance, you realize every time you’re with him, but once it’s over you go back to being sure you’re not in love with your enemy. 

If it is romance it is bad. It is black as the nights in which you meet. You don’t want to be friends, and you’re not sure you want his love either. You want control over him, which you have. And soon you have even more control over him when he surrenders. He kneels before you and your armies, naked and helpless now that his forces have fallen. 

Is it all worth it, you find yourself wondering. You’ve squashed his rebellion and his people have starved. Thousands of the Gallic people will be taken to Rome to flood the market for slaves. This is the price these barbaric nations must pay for their uprising. You have slaughtered them, enslaved them, and they deserve it. He is taken prisoner too, and taken back to Rome and kept in some dark, cold jail where others say he belongs.

You go to see him sometimes, and he looks at you with the dead eyes of a wounded animal. 

“I’m sorry, old friend,” you say. 

“Friend?” He spits. “You were never my friend.”

That much is true. There was no love in your relationship, you recall. No tenderness or affection. It was all violence and blood and conquest, for both. It was the only time he had true control over you, in the end.  
“I suppose you’re going to parade me through Rome in chains,” he says. His voice has a tinge of sadness in it- maybe it’s because he has been humiliated and there will be more to come in the future. For the first time you wonder how he saw your situation. Maybe he cared for you in the way you didn’t for him. 

“Not yet,” you reply. You then shove him up against the wall. He doesn’t struggle but he doesn’t want this. His pathetic gasps fill the cell and when you’re done with him you leave, as always.

Five years later you make good on your word. He is marched through Rome, the centerpiece of your Triumph. And then he is strangled in private, in the cell. The great enemy of Gaius Julius Caesar, the Gaul Vercingetorix, is dead. No one ever finds out about the relationship between you, and no one ever finds out the truth you hide for the rest of your life.

It may have been bad, but it was romance.


End file.
